


Enough of Cages

by Maybethings



Series: Grey Warden and Short Taarbas [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bigotry & Prejudice, Gen, Guilt, Redemption, and so it begins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 20:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1954950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maybethings/pseuds/Maybethings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Grey Warden Natia discovers the giant Sten in his cage, what to do seems blindingly obvious. The problems come after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough of Cages

_This,_  thought Natia Brosca,  _is going be difficult._

The…what had he called himself? The qunari in the cage stared impassively back at her from behind the bars. She wondered if he wondered why she had come alone. With his face looking like that (and so high up), she couldn’t quite tell. Alistair and the others had made camp some distance from Lothering, and Fiver was their official watchdog. But she had chosen to do this on her own - mostly because what you don’t see, you can’t pretend not to know about.

"Hello again," she said at length, her voice feeling like rags stuck in her throat.

"Why have you returned?" he responded, coming straight to the point.

"I’ll ask the questions here, thanks." The man looked supremely unconvinced. She cleared her throat, twice, before trying again. "I spoke to the Chantry Mother earlier. She confirmed you were telling us the truth."

"Do the people in this land often lie about murder?"

"You’d be surprised," Natia replied cagily. "But I told her I would take charge of you, and…well, I’m just going to get you out of there now. Whatever happens, you swear to follow us against the Blight?"

"I give you my word, as Sten of the Beresaad."

"All right." She waved her hand at him. "Back up a little, please?"

"You have the key? I must admit, I did not think the priestess would part with it."

"Well, actually…I don’t," the dwarf said. She seemed almost apologetic to Sten, but that quickly melted away as she hefted her sword and crashed the pommel into the lock of his cage.

It was hard to tell which of them was more surprised when the metal actually gave way and the door swung wide open.

* * *

"I’m not so sure this was a good idea any more," Alistair said conspiratorially over the campfire about a week later. "What do you think of the new guy?"

"He’s certainly very quiet," Natia said, stirring her bowl of stew absently. Her gaze was fixed on Sten, sitting apart from the others as he ate. Fiver sat at his feet, eyes shining with the mabari adoration she had grown familiar with by now. If her dog liked the big guy, he couldn’t be entirely bad. But he still hadn’t said more than two words together to anybody since joining them. It was like addressing a large, cold wall.

"He’s a bit more than quiet, mind you. Or less, depending on how you look at it. It’s like he could walk into a party and suck all the chatter out of it with one look." Alistair paused with the waterskin halfway to his mouth. "Do you think Qunari even have parties?"

"Alistair, I’m as clueless there as you are. But you’re right, this can’t go on. I’m…I’m going to talk to him.” She brushed the crumbs off her leathers and stood up. All she had to do was just walk over to him and start a conversation, friendly-like. One foot in front of the other. No big deal. It wasn’t like he was twice her size and could snap her in half like a nug rib.

Her feet brought her there. Then her mouth decided to betray her, and so did her brain. All the questions she wanted to ask flew like farts on the wind as she stood beside him. He cast her a glance, and she thought she saw his eyes narrow ever so slightly before he looked away.

"Sten! Hey, how are you doing?" No answer. "You got enough to eat today?"

"Yes."

"Good! Need anything else?"

"No."

"Food’s not turning your stomach or anything?"

"No."

"You like stew?"

More stony silence. She supposed she could take that as another no. (Even in her duster days, stew had never been this kind of a grey colour. Alistair was not allowed near the cooking pot again.)

"You’re not ill, are you? Or injured?"

"No."

"Oh. It’s just that you’ve been very quiet so far."

"There's nothing to speak about, Warden."

"…Do you like the weather?"

"No."

"Dogs?"

"No." Fiver whined keenly.

"You’re really not going to tell me why we’re not speaking, are you?"

"No. _Parshaara!_ Why do you pester me?"

It all seemed to click, then. Natia raised an eyebrow. “Paragon’s dangling participles.  _You’re angry at me._ ”

"No."

"I think you are. Is this about that whole…thing…with the lock and the cage?"

Sten twitched. “No.” But the sudden, practiced flatness of the word spoke far more eloquently than he.

She groaned. “Can I sit with you? No, to nugs with that, I’m sitting with you.” She plonked herself down on the ground in front of him, legs crossed tightly. “You think I should have left you back there to rot in that cage, don’tcha.”

"It would have been the sensible thing to do."

"Who said any of us was sensible? Look, nobody here is any kind of paragon of Grey Warden…ness. Morrigan hates everyone. Alistair tells too many jokes for his own good and he’s still broken up about Ostagar. Honestly, I don’t know what Leliana’s story is. Me? I’m as much of a killer as you are." She shoved the hair back from her branded cheek, wincing a little as she expected a reaction. There was none, save perhaps some well-concealed confusion. It was still a novelty to find people didn’t know what the brand was: its meaning, its weight, its shame. "Before I was a Warden, I was a casteless, nothing. Less than nothing. Folks like me, we’re…not even things. Things actually get taken care of. We don't get a second look. We can't get jobs, either. So I’ve stolen stuff to keep going, and cheated like a nug in the mud, and killed a whole bunch of people. OK, a few of them probably didn’t deserve it. But I killed ‘em anyway. There’s a lot of blood on my hands, and I should’ve died in a cell in Orzammar. But someone broke me out of my cage, and gave me a chance to not mess up. He believed that I could. And I think everyone deserves a chance like that, even the lowest scumsucking duster.”

"Warden, you did not—" he began tightly.

"Also she was asking for thirty silvers."

Sten’s train of thought sputtered to an abrupt stop. “Who are you even talking about.”

"Thirty silvers. The Chantry Mother, she asked for a donation to the Chantry before she even considered listening to us. I didn’t have the silvers, but even if I did—I know what a blood price sounds like. You shouldn’t, you can’t boil down a person to a bunch of coins, that’s not right. Nobody gets to sell anybody else like shaved nugs, a life is worth more than a PRICE—" She made an exasperated, tired noise deep in her throat. Sten watched her run her fingers through her hair before she continued, voice sharp and weary. "I’m done with cages and I’m done with letting folks rot in ‘em when we can do better. I’m officially bedrock-to-ceiling finished with that. So if you want to look for a-atonement, I’ll help you. Believe me, I want to help you out. Maybe we’ll both find it." It was probably the most she had spoken in one go since she’d reached the surface. "Think you can work with that?"

He looked at her long and hard, before nodding almost imperceptibly. It wasn’t the almighty thawing she had hoped for, but it was a start. “Yes.”

"Good." Natia smiled. "Good." Then she added, "Thank you." Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be so difficult after all.


End file.
